


Icarus Falling

by bemusedlybespectacled (ardentintoxication)



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Community: jakink, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Limbs, Muteness, Public Humiliation, Slash Goggles, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:53:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentintoxication/pseuds/bemusedlybespectacled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not the same careful assembly of parts, but a vicious, brutal tearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icarus Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Icarus Falling 伊卡洛斯坠落](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591819) by [PinkZebra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkZebra/pseuds/PinkZebra)



> For the prompt [here](http://jakink.dreamwidth.org/724.html?thread=107988#cmt107988) at the kink meme, which called for Caine's court martial and making it "as messy and violent as possible." I was also requested to look at [this concept art](http://intergalacticadvocatebob.tumblr.com/post/113251413641/pixelsriot-jupiter-ascending-by-maciej-kuciara), which was a good bit of fuel for the trial scene.
> 
> I suppose this could be considered a prequel to [i wanna be your dog](http://archiveofourown.org/series/223286) on account of how it goes down (that is, somewhat different than my idea of how it went down in the Recompense 'verse), but it works as a stand-alone.
> 
> This is a bit of a riff on [Fallen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3390995) by Red_Tigress: I liked the idea of Caine _getting_ his wings being almost as painful as losing them.

The courtroom is awash with the low buzz of conversation. Almost the entire Aerial Division, or at least those who can be spared from their duties, is present for this trial: the crowd is a sea of bodies, all standing in parade rest, their wings folded neatly behind them.

The judge shuffles his papers impatiently. Like most members of the legal system, he is an android, though one of the Magistrate line rather than the Advocate. He's built to appear older, with artfully artificial wrinkles and elegant silver hairs among the black, with the same neutral expression that all androids have.

"Caine Wise," intones the judge. "This court finds you guilty of Statute 77*3n5, attempted murder of a Primary Entitled. Ordinarily the sentence for such a heinous crime is death."

A murmur travels throughout the crowd: this is not unexpected, but everyone knows that Stinger testified earlier in the trial, that Caine's Advocate had argued that he was genetically unfit to be held accountable for his own actions. To be sentenced to death even in the face of a plea bargain from the defendant's commanding officer is, at the very least, intriguing gossip.

"However," the judge adds. "Evidence has been entered indicating that you were not fully in control of your... baser instincts." The judge gives an approximation of a condescending look. "As such, your sentence has been reduced. You are hereby dishonorably discharged from the Legion and sentenced to fifteen years hard labor on Zarlond 449, or until such a time as your bail bond is paid in full. Your bail is set to 20,000C."

Fifteen years on Zarlond is a joke. Most last five years in the penal colonies there: a soldier like Caine, strong and healthy and not easily broken, might last ten. There's a reason they call it the Deadland, and it's not because it's a pleasant vacation destination. And there's no way he can hope to make bail: 20,000C is impossibly high for anyone not Entitled.

A hulking Bailiff, its metal fingers like immovable vises, grasps his upper arms and hauls him bodily to a dais before the assembly. It's an audience, Caine realizes, for a very specific message: the consequences of harming an Entitled.

A second Sim approaches, the same size as the first. It grips the front of his prison jumpsuit and yanks, ripping it from the neck down. Two more quick pulls and it's off his shoulders entirely, leaving the torn cloth to gather around his ankles. Without it, he's in nothing but his under-armor, and there's a collective gasp among the crowd as they realize that Caine will not only be punished, but humiliated, to the fullest extent of the law. The first Sim forces him into a kneeling position, while the second moves behind him. He feels two cold, metallic hands grasp the base of his wings.

The day he got his wings implanted had been the most painful day of his life. They'd sedated him with a paralytic, to keep him from struggling or crying out, but they'd done nothing to dull the pain. They'd kept him awake and aware the entire time, to make sure the connections to his nerves were forming properly, that his wings would function as naturally as his arms or his legs. 

This is worse.

His world shrinks to two white-hot points of pain between his shoulder blades. This is not the same careful assembly of parts, but a vicious, brutal  _tearing_. Any thought of accepting his punishment with dignity vanishes: he opens his mouth to scream and  _keeps screaming_ , bucking uselessly against the Bailiff's hold. He feels, with an almost feverish lucidity, that his nerves are being snapped, that some muscles are still attached to the connection ports and are being torn away with it. He can't stop screaming long enough to form the words to beg, and even if he could, he can't pin down any thoughts long enough for them to become words.

He screams until his voice gives out, until blackness gathers around the edges of his vision.

When he comes to, he's on his front on the dais, his ears ringing loudly. More senses come to him slowly, in phases. Every nerve seems to be burning, there's concerned muttering in the crowd, there's a metallic smell in the air-

It's blood, he realizes dimly. He's lying in a pool of his own blood.

"Get him up," says a vaguely familiar voice. It's Commander Lowen, from Aerial Troop 6. He's a leontant, seven feet tall with a shock of golden red hair, and he's not particularly known for his kindness. The Bailiffs grab his arms again and hoist him upright, renewing the pain afresh. "Get the spray."

It's not pure Regenex, he can tell. Caine can feel the muscles knitting together, but slowly. His back still aches with the pain of his severed nerves. It will keep him from dying, but he will definitely feel pain for a while, and he will scar.

"Take him to the brig," says Commander Lowen. 

Stinger is there when Caine's tossed bodily into the cell, landing on his back with a whumph. He sucks in an agonized breath and forces himself upright, dragging himself to the corner for the shared cell with his back to the wall.

"Clipped and stripped?" Stinger asks quietly.

Caine opens his mouth to reply, but no sound comes out. His vocal cords are on fire. Instead, he nods, tapping his throat to indicate his inability to speak. There's something funny about that, he thinks, his throat being injured because of what he did.

"No clemency, then." Stinger sounds almost resigned.

Caine shakes his head. _Deadland_ , he mouths to Stinger, holding up five fingers three times.

"I've my appointment tomorrow," Stinger says, as if he's discussing a disappointing weather forecast. "For my own clipping. I've been reassigned, to Marshall another planet. I'm allowed to take Kiza, some equipment. Small favors."

Caine raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

"Earth, they said."

Caine nods. He's heard of Earth. It's a demotion, but it's a good planet, a mercy compared to Zarlond.

"I don't imagine we'll see each other much after tomorrow."

Caine shakes his head. 

Stinger sighs. "C'mere, you."

Caine shuffles over warily, on his hands and knees, and settles awkwardly next to Stinger. He can't lie on his back for fear of it hurting more, and he doesn't want to lie on his front, either. He doesn't want to show his back to Stinger, show him what's going to happen to him in only a few hours. He can't even voice his pain: the most he can do is breathe heavily through his nose, his whole body shaking.

"Just you lean on me, now," Stinger says. Caine tips himself sideways until his head is resting on Stinger's shoulder. It's not soft, but it's strong, enough that Caine is able to find a small amount of comfort in it, more than he deserves.

Stinger says, "I'll take the first watch," and it's so routine that Caine feels pinpricks of warmth in his eyes. If Stinger notices the darkening spots on the sleeve of his shirt, he doesn't say anything. Instead, his fingers brush the fuzz of Caine's regulation-short hair, rub behind his ears, and settle as a warm, heavy presence on the back of his neck.

"Caine," Stinger says. "I want you to know now: I have nothing left I can give you. Nothing. Do you understand me?"

Caine nods, or at least, as much as he's able with his head on Stinger's shoulder.

"If I see you again," he does not say that it's far more likely that he'll never see Caine again, "it had better be for a very good reason."

Caine nods again, and snuffles a bit miserably.

"Oh, get down, go on."

Caine freezes, not knowing what's expected of him. Stinger makes an exasperated noise and guides him off his shoulder and onto his lap, his arms supporting Caine's weight to keep from jarring his back as he does so. His fingers sift through Caine's hair again, too much comfort and yet not enough. Caine lets out a wordless sob.

"I said I'd take the first watch," Stinger says, a bit more firmly. "That means you go to sleep, cadet, and that's an order."

Caine doesn't remind him that he's not a cadet anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I may have taken "clipped and stripped" a bit too literally.


End file.
